


Power in Our Hands (Warlock)

by ModernAgeSomniari



Series: Power in Our Hands [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernAgeSomniari/pseuds/ModernAgeSomniari
Summary: Another in this little series, looking at how we get from Legion to BfA - this time from a warlock’s perspective.  Again, not really an Original Character fic, just a thought experiment
Relationships: None
Series: Power in Our Hands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798516
Kudos: 1





	Power in Our Hands (Warlock)

The Heart’s scream echoed in the air like sharp nails down rough steel. It grated his ears and made him grimace, part in defence and part in a strange, brutal thrill that his presence was the cause. It knew what he was here to do and it feared him.

He turned away from it, casting his gaze over what he had claimed. He wondered slightly at his lack of reluctance. This place, with its denizens bending their knees as he passed, swirling ether caressing his bare flesh where it was exposed like some hideous aurora - this place was his palace. Where his feet trod, deathless beings trembled. Where his hand reached out, proud flesh pressed against his fingers, desperate for his approval and attention. Those that had come to this place with him, who he had brought salvation to, watched him with resentment and admiration in their eyes. They would die for him, this he knew. They would also rip all of this from him if they could and he was about to take that option from them forever. How furious they would be. How they would rage at his weakness, his short-sightedness, his wasting of untapped potential.

They did not understand that this, these next few precious minutes, this was true power. True freedom. This exhilarated him, brought shivers to his skin and thrilling bursts of adrenaline in his gut. Because there was no other foe, no other power to tame here but his own. The ultimate act of arrogance, because what other adversary could near-to-physically arouse him in anticipation of this victory. Above all victories.

He felt them behind him, their presence pushing against the other side of the portal he’d stepped out of. He felt their impotent rage, their frustration and their fear that he would make good on his promise to bring them through with him and leave them here if they tried to stop him. Those that belonged in this place sat passively, waiting for the weight of his judgement to crush them. They did not fight him or question his will, even though they knew what it meant. The pulse of profound, overwhelming satisfaction this brought him did nothing to sway him from his purpose. It further convinced him. The war was over.

The tainted wood of the Sceptre dragged against his palm as he raised it, like it didn’t want him to let go and the pitch of the Heart’s scream rising to a shriek as he pierced it, setting the jagged metal deep within the putrid flesh to stand like some grotesque banner. A single tendril of sickly green flame trailed from his outstretched hand to the very tip, thrumming now with energy and the Sceptre’s own knowledge of what was to come. He stepped back once, twice, the curls of nether energy from the portal winding around his body.

A clenching fist and a final step back. One last ear-splitting howl from the Heart and he had just enough time to see both Sceptre and Heart begin to crumple in on themselves in writhing tendrils of flame before the portal claimed him.

The DreadScar and all its denizens imploded in a silent explosion of pressure. As he felt the rush of the portal whisking him back to safety he began to laugh.


End file.
